Upside Down & Backwards

When it comes to shooting film, all roads lead to and from the classic view camera. In fact, the basic design hasn’t really changed in over a century. You simply have a front standard and a back standard that are bridged by a (hopefully!) light-tight bellows. There’s no mirror and no viewfinder; instead, you’re looking right at the image that’s being projected by the lens onto a piece of ground glass. And that image is upside down…and backwards. (OK, it’s not really backwards since it’s already upside down…but, in practice, it certainly is so.)

The detail that’s captured on both 4x5 and 8x10 films can be stunning. Think Ansel Adams. When compared to digital, the “tastes just like chicken” clause is often invoked: Pixel weenies say “it’s better than 4x5” or “it’s just like 8x10” or some such. Only it’s not. Or at least it’s different. (Just like what’s being sold as “chicken” is, too.) And it may seem a minor point, but, unlike digital—where the image lives in cyberspace from the moment you click the shutter—that sheet of film was actually there.

And then there are camera movements: Tilts, swings, shift, and rise. Tilts are the big one for landscape work. Front tilts affect the plane of focus from near to far but can vignette due to lack of lens coverage; rear tilts are safer that way and also change the shape slightly (think stretching space or controlling verticals). Swings and shifts are side-to-side adjustments. Rise is great for architectural work, though that’s often less critical for landscapes.

The image at right shows a near-far scenario at which the view camera excels. This was made with my Arca-Swiss FC 4x5, a wide-angle Schneider XL 80mm lens, and just enough back tilt to extend focus from the closest poppies to that background breaking wave—and I further stopped down the lens to f32 to make double-sure nothing poked up and through that receding plane. I shot it on Fuji Velvia 100F sheet film.

Just for fun, here’s a quick sketch of the process: First you set up the tripod, then fix the view camera to it. Raise the standards into their neutral position, then pick a lens and mount that on the front. Grab the darkcloth and drape it over both your head and the camera. “Open” the lens to view things as brightly as possible. Compose. (For the poppy shot, I’m on my knees and hunching down even further to work, while also wiping ticks off my pants. Ah, nature!) Decide which camera movements you want and rough those in while you watch their effects; revise the framing as needed. Focus again. Rinse and repeat. Check and fine-tune the focus with a handheld loupe on the ground glass. All good? Lock down the controls. Close the lens—you’re done looking through the camera itself.

Now aim a handheld spot meter at midtones, highlights, and shadows, slide the “best” overall exposure up and down in your head, and dial in that combination of speed and aperture on the lens shutter. Factor in the light loss for any filters and for long bellows extensions…or for exposures over, say, four seconds long. Insert a loaded film holder in the camera back. Cock the shutter. Pull out the holder’s darkslide; then check the scene itself for movement. Are those poppies sitting still? How’s the position of any waves? Did the light change? Wait. Forever. Finally good? Gently trip the cable release attached to the lens. Re-insert the darkslide, lock it in place, and then remove the holder. You’re done! Whew!

Yes, it’s analog as all get-out and entirely manual. It’s also expensive (and getting worse), film choices are now limited, and most of the best color processing labs are long gone. Sound tortuous? Actually, it’s really fun…unless you’re in a hurry. Most of all, it’s a craft with its own integrity and contemplative pace, one that leads to a unique precision in looking and seeing.

And that upside-down thing? As they say: “You get used to it.”

One October day I was walking near Bell Meadow on the Sierra’s western slope and came upon a quiet pool near the small creek, where there was a pileup of downed aspen leaves floating and slowly swirling on the darkened surface. I worked with those leaves for hours, peering intently at the ground glass of my 4x5 camera while locked in beneath the darkcloth. Late that chilly, moonless night I left the campfire for bed in the back of my truck…and when I stretched out and closed my eyes I could still quite clearly see bright golden and red aspen leaves swirling on a black background. That light show went on and on, as if projected on my eyelids.

And all those leaves were upside down and backwards.

By Scott Atkinson

Contents copyright 2026. All rights reserved.